I Love You, Charlie
by Kiana Maria
Summary: I had harbored an obsession with Drive Shaft's bass player for many years. Then I boarded a flight from Sydney to L.A...


I remember a day at a shopping centre, walking 'round a corner and seeing, through a shoppe's glass window, a life-size poster of the band. Oh, it was so good. Mine, my love, my Charles Hieronymus Pace. Did I buy the poster? No, I did not. That wasn't how it was. I wasn't a Drive Shaft _fan_; I was in love with Charlie and he was in love with me.

He didn't know it yet, because we hadn't met. He was famous, so of course I knew about him. I wasn't, so he didn't know about me. But when the stars finally did decide that it was time, he would love me.

When we met, I wondered how I would act. I couldn't burst into tears and say, "Oh, Charlie, I love you, Charlie!" like some obsessive girl at one of their shows. It wasn't like that.

He and I went to bed together every night. My dreams and fantasies outshone reality. Just thinking about him was so good, so, so wonderful… and one day we really would meet. It would really happen. This wonderful world we lived in allowed such things... this dear, sweet earth that really existed, that had really created me _and_ had created Charlie Pace.

Each time I saw him, on the telly or whatever, I almost didn't want to watch. While each new image and fact about his life thrilled me with excitement, I didn't want to meet him and know everything about him. It wasn't a rock star/fan girl thing. We were... equal.

When we did meet, fall in love, and marry... should I tell him? Should I pretend I'd never heard of him, pretend I kind of knew who he was, or tell him everything? Should I always keep the secret, or wait years and years and then tell him when we got old? At what point do you tell your husband, "I always knew I'd marry you"?

Some people would say my loneliness caused me to become obsessed. Maybe if I'd always had friends and places to go, I wouldn't be so interested in some far-away celebrity. And they were right. But maybe it was worth giving up those things.

I wondered how people could consider themselves in love when they'd simply met and gotten to know each other. It was so much better to love someone for years and know you had to wait.

And then, one day at a shopping centre, I overheard someone say, "Remember that song? 'You All Everybody'?"

"Oh yeah, who sang that?"

"Don't remember."

And an image came into my head. An image of myself, old and alone, muttering about how I just hadn't met him yet...

Then one morning I'd woken up in Sydney, in my bed, crying. Crying over a rock star I'd seen on the telly. And I'd decided to live my life. If we ever met… well, wonderful. But I wasn't going to keep waiting.

It was a turning point, and I started doing things I'd never done. Living in the moment, trying to feel positive about the future.

I had the money and I had the time, so I decided to see America. I booked a flight to Los Angeles. I sat on the plane, looking out the window at the bright day and the clouds.

Suddenly, the plane shook. Everyone stopped what they were doing, and then resumed what they were doing, because it was just a bit of turbulence. Then the floor fell out from under us as the plane went down.

Oxygen masks fell from the ceiling. The overhead compartments burst open and suitcases crashed out. My world went black.

* * *

><p>I opened my eyes. The sun was in my face. I heard screaming and smelled smoke. I lay on sand, and I needed more than anything to shield my eyes. I raised my hand to my face and saw that it ran with blood.<p>

I couldn't move, couldn't see where it was coming from, but I felt the pain. There was so much pain, blood, smoke… without a hospital. I tried to speak but couldn't.

My only thought was: _No, not yet. I didn't get to live._

A shadow moved onto my face and the sun didn't hurt anymore. "Here, can you lift your head up?" I tried but couldn't. "All right," he said. "It's all right."

His hand dug under my head, and he lifted it slightly while moving a pillow underneath. I could breathe easily.

"It's your stomach," he said. "Schrapnel wound…."

He left, and he came back. "I found a blanket." My body was covered with warmth as he spread the blanket over me. "Were you on the plane by yourself?"

"Yes." I could barely say the word.

"It'll be all right," he said. He took my hand, and I looked into his face. This was it, I was going. But what a wonderful gift to receive before I went.

"I love you, Charlie," I said, looking into his eyes. He smiled, and I was at peace.


End file.
